A Diplomatic Incident
by LadyMirielGelliam
Summary: Inspired by and based off of the extended edition of The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey. What was Lindir thinking as the dwarves had a rowdy food-fight? And would the elves truly have calmly looked on? (This is my first story, so please review and help me to improve my writing! Thanks for reading. (: )


A Diplomatic Incident

"They are surprisingly cultured," announced Mithrandir with enthusiasm.

My lord Elrond's mouth twitched a little but he skillfully hid it behind his goblet, keeping his attention politely fixed on the Mithrandir as the wizard continued to elaborate on the virtues of the dwarves he had thrust upon us. I glanced at the table where the dwarves sat; to my horror, I realized that one of them was trying to slip a beautiful, solid silver salt-shaker into his jacket.

"These are descendants of the house of the house of Durin," continued the old wizard, oblivious to what was going on behind his back. "They have a history of refinement."

Another dwarf was fingering his goblet with a practiced air and I closed my eyes in supplication, fearful for our beautiful and highly expensive tableware. I wondered whether alerting Lord Elrond to the situation would do any good; I knew the extent of my lord's famed hospitality and hoped that his kindness would not extend to the loss of some of our best silver. As I hesitated, a very fat dwarf shoved a slim candlestick into his jacket pocket, before draining his goblet and attempting to do the same with it. I could restrain myself no longer.

"Lord Elrond," I said softly.

The lord of Imladris raised his eyebrows in an enquiring manner.

"I am sorry to intrude, my lord, but I fear our silver is disappearing rapidly into our guests' pockets," I explained.

Lord Elrond set his goblet hastily down and looked sternly at Mithrandir. The wizard was just saying, "They have an great love of the arts, why, in their own ancestral halls - " but he stopped his eulogy when he noticed the dangerous glitter in my lord's eyes.

"Mithrandir, I would gladly open my home to a dragon if he behaved himself, but I cannot have a lot of pilfering dwarves carrying off Rivendell's goods," he said quietly. "Either they behave themselves, or they leave. I am sorry."

The wizard nodded in defeat and opening his mouth in preparation for a (presumably long) speech, twisted in his chair. But he never got to give his lecture.

One dwarf with an unspeakable abomination upon his head (he called it a hood) leapt upon a side table, kicking his chair over in the process and nearly knocking over an elf carrying a very heavy platter.

"If they don't know any better songs, there's only one thing for it!" he yelled genially.

Lord Elrond glanced mildly and with a hint of well-masked amusement at the dwarf.

"There is an inn, a merry old inn," the dwarf began in a sort of tuneless, straining shout.

The rest of the dwarves immediately joined in with great gusto, effectively putting an end to our talented and bewildered minstrels' playing. As our guests attempted to hit a prolonged note that was too high for most of them, several elves cringed, almost imperceptibly, but the gesture was still there. The Firstborn are gifted with exceptional musicality and the nerve-grating sounds that proceeded from these dwarves were almost too much to bear. I tried very hard to keep my emotions from showing on my face and risked a glance at my lord. A stranger would have noticed nothing, but I knew my lord well enough to notice he was trying not to laugh.

It was at that moment that the fat dwarf (they were all stout compared to the graceful figures of the Firstborn, but this one was particularly rotund) picked up a bun and threw it at the head of one of his friends, who returned the favor with enthusiasm.

Mithrandir may say what he likes, but at that moment, I distinctly heard him snort with laughter.

"I am afraid, Elrond, that they do not appreciate their meal," the wizard suggested dryly.

Lord Elrond set his goblet down carefully.

"You know as well as I do, Mithrandir, that the custom of this house is to eat meat at the morning and midday meals, not at supper, with the exception of feasts and banquets, of course. If you had sent word to us, we would have had enough time to prepare differently."

The wizard shrugged elaborately. By this time most of the elves had discreetly put a larger distance between themselves and the table, as a full-scale food fight had erupted. I felt very sorry for Gannaril, whose harp was too large to move easily. She was hiding behind it instead.

A piece of food moving too rapidly to be recognized whizzed past my lord's head and splattered on the intricately carved stone of the wall behind him. He frowned a little, but did not say anything, which display of patience impressed me greatly. I shuddered; it was going to be painfully time-consuming for some poor elf to get every particle of that soft, sticky mess out of each tiny crevice.

Looking around, I reflected it was going to take more than one or even ten elves to clean up the mess. The walls were fast becoming spotted with the softer or greasier dishes, and the floor was a disaster. Salad greens were sliding down the walls, leaving oily trails in their wake, and pieces of fruit kept exploding on the walls like little bombs, the skins sticking tenaciously as the pulp slowly broke into clumps and plopped squishily onto the floor.

The dwarves appeared to imagine that they were performing a sort of dance, or creating art, as they hurled food in every direction to the time of their little ditty. As the air thickened with flying bread and greens, some of the minstrels and servers threw propriety to the wind and ran out of the room. My lord Elrond has a generous amount of patience, but even he has his limits.

"Gandalf, enough is enough," he said warningly.

With a helpless gesture, Mithrandir began to protest, explaining that the dwarves would only follow orders from Thorin Oakenshield and he, Gandalf the Grey, was powerless to do anything. To my alarm, Lord Elrond looked almost angry, an emotion I have rarely seen him display since he is by nature truly as kind as summer.

A sticky sweet-bun flew past my ear, narrowly missing me. Glancing at the mess it had made, I tried very hard to keep calm.

"You missed the elf!" a dwarfish voice bellowed.

Raucous laughter followed as a dwarf, presumably the one who had thrown the previous sweet-bun, threw another, this time forcing me to duck in order to avoid it.

The dwarf's laugh was cut off by a piece of fruit that burst on his face, effectively silencing the whole startled company. I neatly wiped the traces of juice off of my hands, triumphant and completely unrepentant.

With all due respect, my lord Elrond may say what he likes, but at that moment I distinctly heard _him_suppress a laugh.

"This means war, pointy-ear!" sputtered the balding dwarf with the atrocious ear-ring.

I bowed slightly.

"I hope not," I said quite cheerfully and untruthfully.

Thoughtfully, Lord Elrond picked up a piece of fruit and tested its weight.

"As it seems that in any case the meal is ruined, I sincerely hope that Lindir and I will not be the only ones to stand against these worthy foes. We would be greatly outnumbered," he remarked casually to the remainder of the servers and minstrels.

I caught a familiar sparkle in his eye and suddenly realized where the sons of Elrond got their mischievous streak.

A few minutes later, the dwarves, taking refuge behind a fort hastily constructed out of some of the furniture, enthusiastically fought back our little force, who laid siege to the foe with courage and vigor that Gil-Galad himself would have been proud of. The herald of the said Elven-king at the fore and one of the chief members of the Istari at his side, we made quite a picture as, completely abandoning our dignity, we slung the remainder of the carefully prepared dishes at Thorin's company.

"Good one! Not bad for a pointy-eared fur-brain!" shouted the balding dwarf gaily as Lord Elrond skillfully deflected an enemy shot with one of his own and covered two unfortunate dwarves in juicy pulp.

"Yah! Come on, you cowards!" roared another good-naturedly. "You cannot defeat us while there is even one dwarf left who still draws breath!"

"We most certainly can, you scruffy dirt-scrabblers!" cried Tirneldîr cheerfully, dodging a bun.

As a volley of nuts rattled around us, my Lord Elrond pulled me away from the enemy fire and, under pretense of protecting me from the nuts, whispered,

"Remember this, _mellon_- sometimes, diplomacy is not only polite words and courtesies. Its true purpose is to make others feel welcome and comfortable, and sometimes this happens in surprising ways."

I chuckled, he grinned, and we turned back to join our companions in a valiant charge against the foe - who were now also our friends.

A/N: This is my first story, so it's not exceptional by any means! I personally don't agree with Peter Jackson's portrayal (whether intentional or not) of elves as vegetarians, so I took a liberty here. Technically, the healthiest thing to do is to eat a big lunch and breakfast and a lighter dinner (or supper), and since the elves are very healthy and fit, I suppose they could have done what they did in my story - eaten meat only at breakfast and lunch. :) Of course, this is just me trying to make my own ideas fit better with the ideas in the movies. So anyways, please review and give me some helpful criticism, if you have the time! I would love it so so so so much. :)


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